


Do Not Carve Thy Sins, Expunge Thy Sins Instead

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Series: The Little Deputy [2]
Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst and Romance, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Fighting, Hate Sex, John's always wanting, Love/Hate, Mildly Dubious Consent, Power Play, Religious Cults, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sex Addiction, and he wants the Deputy so very bad, prosey as fuck, they're made for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-16 06:49:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16080728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Summary: She's done. There's nowhere she can run because even if John Seed's miles away, she'll find his likeness in others. After killing the misguided Faith, so young and hollow, The Deputy decides tonight is the night she'll make it easy for him... well, less difficult was a better word for it.Cuttlebooper asked: 8 for John seed x Fem!dep?A/N: Day 8 of Kinktober for angry sex. Please see tags for warnings! <3





	Do Not Carve Thy Sins, Expunge Thy Sins Instead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cuttlebooper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuttlebooper/gifts).



Outside the Spread Eagle, which could be a downhome bar with a plucky name or a tittie joint for all she knows, the Deputy sits. The world is quiet. 

Lounging on the cement planter just outside the door, on a dark night with star sprinkles above, she smokes a cigarette to stop her knee from bouncing. It’s not a habit - the tobacco - but there’s this nervous itch under her skin that won’t go away. There’s no shortage of grass in Falls End… no lack of booze either, but she’s been less eager to drown herself in alcohol let alone weed while evading John’s latest calvary. It’s only in his territory that she’s always on the move. He is… relentless. Yeah, that’s a good word for it; obsessive is another.

So far it’s been three hours since Dutch radioed her in with the good news. Two miles back is a caravan of dead Peggie’s waiting to be marked as missing, and the high from gunning them down while wearing John’s duster was one hell of a ride. Perhaps that’s what was making her legs shake? - The unresolved tension that killing instilled. Guilt played another factor. There’s so much blood on her hands these days. No one during academy training ever prepared her for Marshal Law to the extent seen around her.

Nicotine curls out the side of her mouth as she listens to the muffled rivalry inside the Spread Eagle. There are a fair few bearded men inside who would be happy to take her in for the evening but she’s sore and tired. Done. 

She’s fucked several men who look enough like John to have long purged him from her system, yet he’s still there. One of those nameless, attractive men had even made her cum… but John’s never stopped being a persistent itch no matter where she goes or who she kills or who she fucks. Every life she ends only proves his point. Every guy The Deputy slakes her thirst on drives the nails of sin ever deeper. She’s lust incarnate. If lechery wasn't her sin, then it was wrath; rage. Her hatred for herself and subsequent hatred for John and his brothers… even the adopted sister she murdered several days prior, is just proof without needing words or soliloquies. 

She’s… evil... at the very least, she feels like a monster torn from biblical passages. A she-devil just like saintly Joseph says across radio chatter. 

Perhaps, it’s gotten to the point where she’s waiting instead of running or fighting. The most recent close call bruised her ribs; the long tumble down a jagged cliff face knocked a fair amount of apathy into her. 

Besides, fighting is useless. John won’t stop until she’s brought to him, all nice and tied up like a spring ham. After Faith’s death, who knows what he has planned for her once she’s brought and laid at his feet, but radio communications, both meant for her and meant for private, promise pain and freedom from sin. It’s all been quite tempting, but she’s thrown her sins in his face once before and gotten nothing but sin back. She doubts John would give her salvation when he’d much rather give her kisses and a stiff cock despite the murder of his adoptive sister, or so it would seem.

When the next truckload of Peggie’s shows up outside the bar, she’s alone. 

Sharky is eating shots of whiskey inside the Spread Eagle at the behest of her wrangled pocket money and a couple pats on the back. When the cavalry of cultists pull up, and she doesn’t move to fire a bullet, and they don’t cause a scene. She goes willingly, stubbing out her cigarette in the raised planter bed with the dead marigolds and willowherb; guns pointed at her. She hopes John is disgusted by the reek of nicotine on her when he inevitably gets her face to face.

Unfriendly, but not malicious hands, shove her in the back of the truck. They tie her wrists and ankles together with no less than three gun barrels poised in her face. Hopefully, Sharky won’t miss her too much while she’s gone… that is if she ever makes it back. Chances are she’s done for. It’s something she ponders between gun barrels jabbed in her cheek and the truck’s suspension bumping pain up her side; ribs twinging as she breathes.

The rocky trail towards John’s location feels like a hollowed-out nightmare. Nerves bring up stomach bile, but her body feels numb to the core, so a thick swallow removes the stain of fear. The nicotine only exacerbated the feelings, but she’s ready to face the music just as much as John is to finish what he started. Such potential encounters have fueled the majority of her actions, and it takes up a large portion of her brain’s processing power.

It’s been weeks since the last, and the first time they met in the flesh… skin to skin, and while John’s calls have been no less malicious and taunting, there’s also been more hushed, sinful static confessions at night when he knows she’s alone. The night before she’d watched Faith stumble into her drug-laced water, John had radioed her in on a private line, only to tell her he’s been thinking about her as just a man, wracked with mortal sin, can. He admitted to watching her… wanting her for himself; keeping her hidden and tied to a bed as the world burns… where he could exorcise their shared demons until there was nothing left but pure, unshackled rapture. 

Freedom from the flesh, he’d said… sounding as though he’d been strangling his cock beneath static and miles of road.

Freedom from their sins, he said last night, days after they’d fished Faith out of the lake. After a garbled radio hiss, sounding relaxed and quiet, John promised her everything and more. It sounded like he was reassuring a sobbing child that ‘yes, everything will be alright’ and that ‘the monster under the bed doesn't exist… Daddy will protect you.’

There’s some fucked up reason why she’s attracted to John and men that look like him. Something is wrong with her and that something goes further than either of them know.

Past a barren gas station, there’s nothing but woodlands ahead. The Deputy savors the smell of lupine fields in the crisp night sky while the truck turns around another bend in the road. A sedan chugs on by in the other lane, purposefully ignorant of the stamped Peggy vehicle and the woman tied up in the truck bed. It’s not their fault… not individually, at least. Begrudging people for protecting their own skin would be a waste of time, so she swallows the ill feelings just like the bile and braces herself in the corner of the metal bed as they turn onto an uphill dirt road. The truck suspension jacks - bops - and tosses her unpadded ribs into the metal frame. A weak, pathetic sound squeezes out her throat, and it continues to flow until she’s stuffing her tied boot heels into the bed as the truck as it makes its way up a steep hill. 

“Fuck,” she hisses, sweating beneath the pain.

A rifle barrel hooks under her chin, and a droplet of perspiring fear slips down the side of her face.

She blinks away sweat and focuses on the landmarks. The distant black hills. The pine trees that stand tall like teeth of obsidian. There’s one tall pine that seems more substantial than all the others, but as the truck backfires, a hawk flies off the top, leveling the pine amongst its brethren. A fresh, redwood watchtower comes into view; stark even against the darkened landscape. The truck turns around a circle drive-thru made of packed clay, kicking up the smell of untamed earth and suddenly, The Deputy can sense him...

The vehicle idles, spitting petrol fumes against the natural smell of nature. Her ribs hurt. Her mind is a tumble. Air feels like needles in her lungs, and an oppressive cold chill wracks her spine.

The Seed Ranch House stares down at her with three heavy timber shoots jutting from the central arch that frown beneath the second story where window-eyes - moon glow catching the panes - watch under the night sky. Finally, after all this time, it's the sight of it and of John standing atop the short wooden steps that make her tremble. A yellow lantern beside his boots throws shadows across the opposite side of his cut figure and the curve of a smug expression. Barn-like doors open into darkness… like a mouth gaping wide. 

From that abyss, two men in tattered garbs with assault rifles appear, framing John Seed like he’s a true disciple of God. No less admired than his brother Joseph. The ego trip must get to a man like John, she thinks, knowing the power feeds a sin inside himself which he ignores or perhaps… perhaps, he’s not even aware of it.

The devil in disguise… that’s all he is and all he’ll ever be. He could save thousands and be no closer to God because of the selfish reasons behind those salvaged souls.

“Take her to the garden shed,” John says; lips upturned on one side. Cleanly shaven, dotted with moisture as if fresh from a shower, stark in the lantern-hue and starlight, he’s not just attractive… he’s glowing. Compared to the Peggies around him, he looks like a God.

The Deputy spares a moment of pinched hatred to scrutinize him: his sleeves are already folded above his elbows, exposing ink with a history, and the vest is unbuttoned just like the dark blue shirt beneath. Pale, hair-dusted skin - littered with scarification and more acres of beautiful, faded tattoos, look back at her as she blinks and stares despite the gun barrel nudging her teeth through her cheek. The airy separation of her moist lips and subsequent closing of them means her jaw had gradually fallen open and he knows he’s appealing. She can see it on his fucking face...

He has plans tonight. There’s nothing about him that says he isn’t a man without a motive, but there’s no way it’s the same plan he had before Faith Seed met her end - no way he still wants her like that after what she did. Whatever sexualized, sin-laden torture he had planned is going to be garden variety manipulation and torture now. Or… perhaps he’ll defy Joseph and kill the special little Deputy because of what she’s done. It would serve her right. Maybe they’re all right, and she’s the wicked one - perhaps she deserves to die. 

More of that guilt weighs down in her stomach as one of the Peggies smacks the truck roof and bellies an order. What kind of monster has she become?

The truck kicks back, and the driver takes her away from John’s endless stare and that smirk - the undone upper dressings that beg her tongue to follow bare skin downward… to find the cock it leads to. She’s sick if that’s her only other thought aside from guilt while the Peggies drag her struggling body out the truck bed and through the garden shed that reeks of fresh dirt and something older… rust and blood and memories of childhood when she was but a sapling herself and just wanted to nurture something in this awful, hopeless world.

“Watch my ribs,” she gasps at one of them before a bearded man with mean eyes shoves her into a waist-high metal table - smacking her bruised ribs - before another one reaches across to yank at her elbow and hoist her over the counter. The pain is like a seizure, and though she doesn’t make a sound, it takes them grunting strength to pry her muscles loose as the pain pulls her into a protective shell. That had taken the fucking wind out of her.

Three sets of hands pull her flat on the table.

One of them stumbles when she yanks her shoulder back, slapping an elbow down the slope of her ribs. The motion, while it doesn’t knock her bruised ribs, makes her arch her spine in reflex, blushing when flannel rides up her stomach. Cool air paints her navel during the weak fight, but it doesn’t silence her. A little skin isn't going to ruin her struggle… but John’s sudden ‘tsking’ stops her cold. 

Primal instinct freezes her mid-arch, staring wildly across the small shed at heavy blue eyes beneath a furrowed brow. 

John rolls his shoulders and peels the vest and long sleeve shirt off, exposing lean muscle with several freckles dotting across his shoulders. Pigments of black and old grey imbue his skin like a picture book - like an old illustrated bible - but it’s the dashed out ‘SLOTH’ between his pectorals that silences her harsh panting. Like fuck, she’s gonna let him carve ‘LUST’ between her tits without putting up a fight.

“Remember my brothers and sisters,” he susurrates with a hand on the closest Peggie’s shoulder, “we are all God’s children…”

The Peggie’s looks awe-struck by the gorgeous Seed brother, perhaps as much as she is but in a different way. Less sinful as always.

“... even this one. She too is not beyond saving. Leave her with me and when the door opens her soul will be just as accessible. Then… we will show her the truth. All of us.”

John smiles, tips his head in a soft shake before meeting each set of eyes that stare at him, all except her own and tells them softly, “Yes,” a hot exhale and grin, “We will all be family soon.”  
The arms bracing her against hard metal retreat and in a move that makes them chuckle, she jerks and fights and falls off the table to the floor with a pained groan. She can’t crawl or inch her body across the floor. The pain is ripe, and more abuse will mean a broken rib… a punctured lung… a failed mission not planned even though tonight is all about failure it would seem.

“She’ll see the power of ‘yes,’ one bruise at a time,” John says from the doorway which spills moonlight and the promise of freedom. 

She shifts her cheek across dirty wood and huffs with aching pain, watching between metal table legs as the Peggies file out one by one. John touches each of their chests with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s all a farce - a mask - and as soon as the door is shut, his real face will be revealed. She knows it. He's not what he seems and most likely never has been.

The door clicks closed.

“You know,” John whispers, “all you had to do was confess your sins that night or any night after it. All would have been forgiven and then… she’d still be alive. I won’t stand here and lie - I won’t tell you she was like a sister to me as she was to Joseph, but...”

His boots hit the floorboards as he walks casually across the shack towards the table. Slow and steady wins the race, she thinks, snorting away dust from the ground while trying to find frays in the ropes around her wrists. 

“... but, she was family. They’re all family, and you take them away with your bullets and your wrath and your ‘righteous cause’ but it’s not righteous, and neither are you.” 

He falls quiet the moment he rounds the table, leaning an elbow on the metal surface; head cocked to the side, staring while she fails to remove the bonds. In his bare-chested glory, absorbing shadows and soft grow lights banked above, he smiles straight expensive teeth and toys with something just behind the edge of his thigh.

John breathes out a laugh without humor and shakes his head, “You know now what must be done, hmm? Don’t you?”

Death? Torture? Branding? Sin she’s not sure is worth a knife through her flesh? Another drowning baptism to seal the deal? 

She’s fucked is what she is and not in one of those ways she’d have liked. John is going to carve her up until her transgressions weep blood by the bucket loads. He’s gonna kill her… or so The Deputy assumes until the youngest Seed brother hooks a thin knife inside a leather sleeve within his pocket and shoves a thumb beneath his low slung jeans and bare abdomen. The expression that crosses his face is the same one delivered to her that night of the Baptism - the same heavy-lidded glow of promised debauchery while the mud had dried over her naked body. Suddenly, the future takes a different turn down the fork in the road, ignoring salvation for the trail littered with thorns and rich, poisonous foliage. 

She says something snarky out of the blue - babble - but it’s so fast and jittery it barely sounds like words. The harsh ‘fuck you’ is more clear when John grabs her tied wrists and hauls her onto weak knees. The muscles in her thighs shake. A nerve pinches between her shoulders and her ribs throb but the Deputy finds a way to her feet because John wants her standing… or he may have, had she not stumbled against the table - hips in the hard edge - and carefully bent over the surface. He seems to know the state of her ribs because he’s not unkind; borderline gentle as he presses her down until the cold metal surface calms the flames in her cheek.

Behind her, John groans. 

“Joseph said there would be temptations. The righteous path is never an easy one…” 

She parts her lips, licks bottom teeth and listens as his breathing grows haggard. 

“You, Deputy… you are my temptation - my test. All I need to do is let you go…” his words trail like a dying breath. 

John huffs with unhappy laughter, so close that the heat leaks out against the bare back of her neck. Sweat, previously dried thanks to the fresh air, leaks from her glands again.

“You’re really gonna let me just walk on outta here?” She asks, shifting her hip bones off the garden table because the pain is numbing; biting like teeth dipped in anesthetics. The motions draw John closer, and closer until his hips are laid over her denim-clad ass. His hard erection is blatant and threatening. Had there been any doubts about his desires before, there are none now.

“That’s a no then...” The Deputy responds dryly; hiding fear and lusty need beneath exhausting pain because exposing what she truly wants from him - hard, punishing cock - will just prove John’s previous point. Their spontaneous show of flesh and fucking by the riverside was proof enough of their shared faults, if one could call them such, considering that since her baptism, each sexual encounter has left her feeling cleansed… not dirty and shamed like before.

John’s large, smooth hand warms up her spine, brushing cotton flannel up - exposing a sliver of naked skin. She pants, fogging the metal table; assuming his next move. Unsurprisingly, he fists the fabric, yanking the material up despite her tender ribs, baring her lower back to the naked air. It feels empty without filler words. Awkward maybe, but only because of how right every action is. Even the way John’s knuckles nestle between her shoulder blades says more than words ever could. The cool night air, even in the garden shed, is no match for the steam their bodies exude. Chilling humidity blends with the clammy sweat at the small of her back, growing ever more damp with adrenaline as John’s trimmed fingers run burning softness down to the hem of her jeans. 

He’s coveting: another sin he seems to succumb to when in her presence. There’s even a part of her that feels a tad guilty, but John’s old hedonism has bled into her bone marrow, and she’s taking pleasure where she can… whenever she can.

“John…” she sighs beneath the pleasure his cut nails scratch down her back, “Untie me. I wanna hold you when you fuck me.” The words are only slightly embellishing. It’s mainly a ploy to get out of the ties more than anything. Fuck, she’ll take free wrists at the very least - she can do more than most with just her upper body even with the fucked up ribs. And John, well… he doesn’t disappoint, does he? The Deputy imagines there’s few he disappoints outside of Joseph and himself, and he’s predictable when it comes to her.

Still, the second he releases a staggered breath - as though having waited so long for this moment - and tugs free the slip knot around her wrists, The Deputy braces her palms on the table and throws her head back into his nasal bone. There’s no crunch, but John stumbles back and snarls, cursing in the back of his throat. Wet sniffle makes her grin with countless glee that doesn’t seem to fit her mentality.

If he thought she’d be as easy as she were by the creek, full of bliss bullets and near-death haze, then he’s mistaken.

John takes too long to reorient himself - obviously not expecting anything but her submission and a wet session of languorous fucking. No, she’s not that easy, she tells herself again. 

The Deputy rears her shoulder back, twisting at the waist until her ribs scream with brush fire and slams a fist against John’s cheek. He takes it with less gusto than she’d have thought, but recovers this time and scrambles quickly for her wrists. His knee bumps the back of her own - ankles still tied up tight - and down they both go. Her tits cushion her fall, but she still smacks her chin on the floor and feels a sick pop in her ribcage; nothing breaking or puncturing but too close for comfort all the same.

“You- you slippery,” he hisses, fighting down her arms and shoulders, “disrespectful, beautiful snake…”

John shoves a knee over her hip, takes twin fist fulls of flannel slack wrinkled over her back and rips it up to the nape of her neck. Her heart begins to throb while the chill births gooseflesh across her skin. An elbow jabs beneath her ribs, accidental or not, she’s not sure but sobs aloud all the same. The way his hands smooth beneath shredded cotton, cupping her naked ribs as if to brace them says he hadn’t meant it, but fuck him regardless. 

She doesn’t spare much thought to intentions and outcomes, going on nothing but primal instinct. Between the tendons on the inside of John's wrists are twin pressure points. Two thumbs pushed hard into those knots forces his grip off her.

The Deputy crawls, dragging her tied ankles behind her and makes it to the back door before John snatches up the fork of rope, pulling her back inside the shed; her fingers dug against the door frame. A little piece of clay pottery digs into her stomach, cutting her stomach so that - when John flips her over on her back - he looks momentarily guilty.

The blood must not have been his intention, nor the pain despite the implications but it doesn’t matter because the short fight has guided their bodies into a mock display of fornication with her thighs draped over his right leg and an ass in his groin. Fingers bend, and nails scratch as John subdues her wrists, slapping them to the dusty wood flooring after half-roaring in hungry rage. The struggle - bumping and light grind of denim and covered cock - means it was only a matter of time before their fighting proves itself mock and his lips are welcome like only a bloody steak to a starving mouth can be. Hands that had been trying to find dominance now tug and tear at clothing, snapping free buttons and ripping down zippers. 

John licks his bitten lips, staring at her with smoking-ice eyes as he saws at her ankle ties with that razor-sharp knife. The second her ankles are free, they end up wrapped around his hips, drawing his undone jeans and barely contained erection against her denim crotch. The contact is hauntingly delicious. Every action of her life has led to this point just like John’s sins, and salvation has brought him here between her thighs. 

Into the darkness, John tosses the blade somewhere behind him, scoops two hands beneath her ass and peels dirty jeans down and off her feet. 

The air tickles her toes and her soaked underwear, but the thin fabric rips just as easily as her well-worn flannel had. By the time she’s shoved John’s briefs down mid-thigh - bare cock poised with hard blood and longing - she’s completely naked save for the old band-aid on her upper arm where Dutch gave her a shot of antibiotics that morning.

“Take it,” he demands right before she opens her knees back around his hips and spreads her folds apart with hard fingers. 

Another second of hesitation and The Deputy might have kicked him off for thinking he had any right to her, but his cock nudges her opening and runs her through until she’s sending long moans out into the open door. The pleasure is unmatched - the release is without description. She could say it was better than rose tea after a cold rain… or a hot bath after a double-shift, but it’s so much better than all that.

“... fuck,” she gasps, throwing her head back at the dry burn because despite her wanting his cock more than freedom, salvation, or… justice, he’s too thick, and she wasn’t prepared enough. John glares, but it’s passionate, and the hands wrapped back around her wrists rub thumbs inside her palms. It’s gentle - it’s nothing like she expected. Unpredictable…  
He kisses her, taking a moan with the contact and pulls back, working forward with short, filling thrusts that mashes her cervix. Back and forth; deeper and faster. Gradually, moisture floods outward, painting the turgid length of Seed cock until every thrust is smooth and hot - thick, fast and fluid…

Between uncoordinated kisses and nips of teeth, John slows to a crawl and whispers against her chin, “I will die old… I will show you the truth,” several thick thrusts and a hot moan beside her parted, moaning lips, “Joseph is right. I’ll give you love instead of pain.”

John braces himself; forehead slapping down over her own and grabs at the door frame with its swinging screen that lets in the cold air down their sweaty bodies. He continues, staring into her eyes, “Gorge on your pleasure where others would blood. I will-” John grunts as he pumps between her thighs with the vigor of someone with a point to prove but only knows instant gratification. When this is done, she’ll maim him. She wants to shame him like he’d tried to humiliate her by the lake - broadcast this sweet, sticky sin to the whole valley. Joseph needs to hear the way his brother grunts and moans - the way his flowery words turn to vile filth, and he stops trying to make love to her and starts… fucking...

‘I know you like it hard. I see it in your fucking eyes - how much you like taking your discipline through lechery. What would you do without my cock!?’

He’s not saying anything that isn’t true, but the hushed filth, mixed with snarling moans, is making each lubricated drag of pulsating girth take her closer… closer and further and so… so close to something that’ll clean away her hate and leave her awash in desire and need. All she’ll want is him. John. That would be pure hell.

‘You’re wet… My God, you’re so wet…’ She is. The Deputy can’t remember being more aroused than she is now and though John pauses to whisper sweetness in her ear as often as he does debasement, it’s all leading to expulsion. Enlightenment. The power of ‘Yes.’

“Yess,” she gasps, taking a hungry, rocking kiss as his hips slap and cock bashes her endlessly into oblivion. Just like she’d begged for earlier when her hands had been bound, The Deputy clutches the back of his head one-handed and grapples at the naked muscles just below his shoulder blade; holding him close. He’s sweaty and sticky and smells like that expensive cologne from before, but it’s clean and not muddled with creek water or mud like before.

‘... so tight. So alive. I’ll fuck you out of my system; cleanse you from my loins. Then- fuck! Yes, you’ll show me what it means to love something. I’ll love you more than all those vices I want… I need. You- you’ll be all I need.”

It’s just him muttering wishes and curses. One second he’s confessing love and the next he’s whispering how much he’s been thinking about filling her with his cum; drowning her womb in his ‘seed.’ The stuff John says to her would make his acolytes ashamed. Half of it could make Joseph smile… but the rest would upset him, maybe. It’s just her and John, and the earthy tones of garden dirt with germinating seeds. Only the two of them with mixed reasons for being here, joined together and fucking like wild animals on the floorboards as the wind off the lake outside brings with it cleanly, crisp scents of the wilderness.

The word ‘yes’ tumbles from her lips like a mantra, just like before because she’s so close and it’s impossible to keep the word back when John is pounding her cunt raw. Internal muscles flutter, clench and leak, wetting his cock until every thrust is glossy and smothered with her arousal. He’s fucking her faster now. Relentless and with a purpose beyond anything he’s confessed.

“Say ‘yes.’ Say it again,” he begs as their foreheads rub together and their lips skim. Beautiful blue eyes widen, pupils expanding with unquenched lust that suddenly look less like a man’s and more like a child’s that just needs a little affection. A little love. A little nudge in the right direction. Some point in his life, John Seed wasn’t a devil in human skin… there was a time he was just a kid, maybe a good one… maybe weak and easily manipulated.

“Say it!” The little boy vanishes; wet blue replaced with icy flames.

“Yes, John,” she says, clutching the back of his neck because there’s something there she saw for a second and it’s… impossible to forget it. ‘Yes,’ she repeats and kisses him, even saying the word against his tongue and teeth and inside his mouth as if she can push the word down his throat and feed him with it. 

Words are easy, though.

“Again…” he begs; kisses and fucks.

The Deputy blinks away glassy moisture that blurs blue eyes like open books of engorged text and watches his lashes flutter. 

“... yes.”

His cock twitches, readjusts with a slight hip tilt and suddenly everything is slower - deeper - like the poor attempt at lovemaking he had tried before. This time, it’s different. It’s intimate. Nothing should feel like this but it does, and it’s John that’s making it happen. Suddenly, those fucks before him, between the last time with him and now, return to the whiskey-coated encounters they always had been.

Somewhere in the back of her head, she hears music. 

John combs sweaty hair out of her face, hovers so close he might as well be forcing their souls together and takes a fistful of hair along the shell of her ear. Their bodies rock together; his cock sliding back and forth at a snail's pace that’s as frustrating as it is perfect. 

Every touch, sound and look is so visceral and tender, but under the circumstances, that just means it’s even more diabolical despite any genuine intentions. He’s bleeding from one nostril. Her ribs ache from where he’d maltreated her, and the scab on her stomach is about to break because of the abdomen-curling pleasure. None of that matters though, because John gasps, locks eyes and something passes between them.

She clutches him tightly, holds him close like he’ll float away on a sea of his own inner turmoil and lets him kiss her like they’re in a warm bed with kids in the other room, trying to be quiet as to not wake them. It’s frantic but soft even though he fucks her with sluggish rocking curls that shouldn’t jostle their lips like they do. 

Nothing is as it seems with him. John’s a veneer of glossy perfection, hiding a monster that wasn’t always so. Beneath that he’s a hedonist: bound to the whims of his bodily needs. Right now, he wants her - right now, she wants him. He’s wanted the little Deputy for a while now, and he’s got her, but she’s got him in a similar grip.

“John,” she moans, wraps her ankles around his ass and opens her mouth beneath his tongue. 

The soft bristles of his well-oiled beard tickle as she sucks on his tongue and lips; tracing each straight tooth and gummy ridge until he’s all she can taste.

His fingers pluck hairs from the side of her head, holding her in place below his mouth and lifts himself on an elbow. John whispers something sap-heavy against her tongue, digs a naked, tattooed hand down her belly to where they’re joined in fervid display and finds her clit. For a moment, he sweeps past the hard nub to take away moisture from his half-withdrawn cock, but slides two fast fingers against the nerve endings while slapping her cervix slowly… achingly… perfectly...

The Deputy can’t stand it anymore. The music in her head is reaching a chorus of breathtaking glory. She bears down, digs her ankles in his bare ass and fucks herself down on his cock faster until her body hurts and strains but the harmony echoes in her head like his moans do so she clutches him hard, whispers ‘yes’ for the thousandth time and goes with the chorus. 

“Accept me for what I am,” he gasps suddenly, rubbing pleasure and tunes and rapture into her body while filling her to completion.

“God, yesss…”

John is a slave to that word which therein lies the irony. It’s meant to free, but from her lips, it’s a weapon - shackles - and each time she mutters it against his mouth, he fucks her softer and slower - worshipping her sopping cunt until her lashes flutter in the throes of something like death but isn’t. If it’s divinity coursing through him that makes the sex so good, she thinks she would believe that. Right now, cumming so hard against someone like him, she’d believe anything.

“You’re mine. Like a wife to her husband, you belong to me…”

“... yes, God,” she whimpers and bites his lower lip weakly, “God, yes.”

Nothing has ever felt so good as this, which is probably why The Deputy doesn’t struggle when he hitches in a telltale signal, cumming inside her as though there was no other end to this. John was always going to fill her with his seed, hoping for sure that she’ll sprout like a well-tended plot. The fact that he had her brought to the garden shed, with seedlings surrounding them, seems more symbolic now than it had before.

She hates it as much as she loves it: the perfect blend of two warring emotions.

John huffs a grin, kisses her with two palms cupping her cheeks and something in her dies…

… but death is just another form of rebirth. Is it not?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you have the time, please leave me a comment letting me know what worked for you or what didn't.
> 
> Thank you to Flesh Dust for betaing! <3
> 
>  
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